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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29513241">Touchy Feely</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled'>unsettled</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Happenstance [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Peter Parker, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Tony Stark, Collars, Embarrassment, Established Relationship, Feral Behavior, Fluffuary, Instinctual behavior, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Neediness, Omega Quentin Beck, Quentin is an asshole, peter is one hundred percent done, tony is so glad he's a beta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:00:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,209</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29513241</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Their first heat was a disaster from start to finish. So this one? Tony doesn't have a clue what to expect.</p><p>(Prompt: Post heat/rut)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Quentin Beck/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Happenstance [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185008</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fluffuary 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Touchy Feely</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s not that Tony is complaining— not really. After all, what is there to complain about? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe the fact that Quentin has been asleep, half on his lap, for what feels like hours and Tony’s legs are very numb and he really could stand to pee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe that Peter is completely conked out, utterly useless when he should be the one doing all the taking care of things, like the alpha he is. Instead, it’s looking more and more like it's going to fall to Tony, as the only member of this little group that’s not completely exhausted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony has never been so glad to be a beta in his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin stirs, a little shift to the side and a huff of breath; Tony looks down at him, unsure if this is about to be good, or… not so. If Quentin’s heat has finally broken, or if he’s going to be up for yet another round that no one is going to look forward to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin shifts again, his eyes opening, slowly. He blinks, Tony watching closely. Frowns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god,” he says, his face scrunching up. “I feel disgusting. Ugh,” and Tony feels a wave of relief. It’s over. “Seriously,” Quentin adds, “what the hell. I’ve never felt like this after a heat.” He levers himself up, groaning. “It feels like there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fur</span>
  </em>
  <span> in my mouth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so whiny,” Peter mumbles, still curled up with his eyes closed, and Tony has to smother his laugh while Quentin glares over at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans past Quentin and grabs the glass he brought over earlier— mostly for himself, honestly. “Here,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin pushes himself up the rest of the way until he’s sitting and gulps it down. “Alright,” he says, stretching, “I’m going— fucking— okay,” he snaps, twisting his head to try and get a look behind himself. “Who came on my back, seriously? Why? That’s disgusting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t look at me,” Tony says. Peter sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Peter says. “It was me, look— it just— I wasn’t planning on it or anything!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Disgusting,” Quentin repeats. “Move, Tony. I need to shower as of yesterday.” He brings his hand up, runs it through his hair and down the back of his neck; freezes. Tony can just barely see his face, how he’s gone wide eyed, fingers following the line of his collar. Did he forget about it? Granted, he was already pretty out of it when Peter put it on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” he says, hand still on it. “I— this. This probably shouldn’t get soaked?” and it’s kind of funny to hear him sound so uncertain; it takes a bit to rattle him. “Can— will you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Peter says. Pushes himself about a bit and sort of crawls over to Quentin, leaning against him. “Sure, I’ll get it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fumbles as he’s taking it off, Quentin’s head ducked, baring his nape. His shoulders have gone stiff, tight, unhappy about something. That they—okay, Peter, but it’s still both of them—even put one on him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or that it’s coming off?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The latter, Tony decides as Quentin half raises his hand when Peter pulls the collar away, reaching for his neck before he stops himself. Peter notices, because Peter’s really taken Tony’s ‘you know, you can read up on this stuff too, kid’ to heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets his hand around Quentin’s neck, pulling him back, Peter plastered against him. Kisses the side of Quentin’s neck, and lower, over the bond mark, right where Quentin had complained about Peter coming on him, marking him even more.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin shivers, his breath a little shaky as he exhales. Tony can see him perfectly like this, tipped back by Peter’s hand, mouth open and eyes closed and gone all soft again, all wanting and picture perfect omega again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opens his eyes slowly, dazed, and catches Tony staring at him; well, Tony’s hardly ashamed of that. Blinks, and then blushes, creeping up along his jaw, his ears going red first. “Lemme go,” he says, “I need— I need to clean up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s off the bed the second Peter lets go, practically fleeing, and Tony takes a moment to get in a good look at that ass, fuck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Peter calls. “Don’t take forever! The rest of us feel pretty gross too!” Sighs when Quentin just waves a hand at him and flops back down. “Ugh,” he says. “He’s so hot. How are you both so hot? It’s not fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony snorts. “Go take a better look in the mirror, baby,” he says and Peter wrinkles his nose. Tony actually doesn’t feel bad at all; he got his shower earlier, while they were both passed out and wouldn’t miss him. They still had, though, Quentin rolling over and clinging the second Tony got back in bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” he tells Peter, getting up and stretching himself, “that shower is more than big enough for two. We’ve tested that out enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Peter says. “But I’m a little worried he’d like, kick me out or bite me or something. He was so touchy last time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s always touchy,” Tony says, and it’s true. “Come on, up. You know he’s going to pitch a fit about getting back into a filthy bed.” To be fair—not that he particularly wants to be fair when it comes to Quentin—it’s pretty bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter grumbles the whole time, low level cranky little complaints. “I don’t know how other alphas manage this all by themselves,” he says as they haul off the sheets. “I would be failing so hard right now if you weren’t here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t ask me, kid.” Tony gives the sheets a wary look. This… is not his area of expertise. “You good with this? Got it? Cause I’m going to see about getting us some food.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t wait for an answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter’s gone when Tony gets back, but the shower’s still running. Or running again, because Quentin is sprawled out on the bed, looking much better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head pops up. “Is that food?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony looks down at it. “No,” he says. “Definitely not. What gives you that idea?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin glares at him. “I’m starving, give it here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that had sort of been the plan; still, the urge to annoy Quentin is always present. “What if I’m saving it for Peter?” He settles on the bed, sliding the tray onto the nightstand. “Maybe you should ask to share nicer than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a moment where Tony’s not sure if Quentin’s going to explode, or sulk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or neither, an option Tony hadn’t considered. Quentin leans in, shifting until he’s right along Tony’s side. Tucks his face into the curve of Tony’s neck, his lips just brushing skin when he speaks. “Tony,” he says. “I’m hungry. Can’t you do something about that?” and even if Tony doesn’t have a gland there, doesn’t have those instincts, he still shivers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddammit, Quentin,” he mutters. “Yeah, take whatever you want. It was for you all along anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels the huff of breath as Quentin laughs, the press of lips as Quentin kisses that spot before he leans in a little more. “Tony,” Quentin says, dragging it out. “Aren’t you going to do something about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What is he— oh. Huh. “Are you actually asking to be fed?” Tony says incredulously. That does not seem like Quentin’s thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Quentin says. “Kind of just wanted to see if you would.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you want,” Tony says, and he would. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin hesitates, pressed against him. “Not this time,” he says finally. “Maybe another though. And—” His hesitation is longer. “Would you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a movement by Tony’s thigh, Quentin pushing the collar along the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s so, so tempting to make a fuss over it, see just how red he can get Quentin. But Tony doesn’t, in the end; he can practically feel how Quentin is near squirming in embarrassment and yet he still managed to—sort of—ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, sweetheart,” he says. “Here, chin up,” and Quentin keeps his eyes closed as Tony closes it around his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter comes out while they’re eating. Or rather, while Tony’s nibbling a little and Quentin is devouring every bit he can. “Oh my god, food,” Peter says. “Yessss!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches forward and Quentin </span>
  <em>
    <span>growls.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...no?” Peter says after a long, silent moment, he and Tony both staring at Quentin, who doesn’t even seem to notice. “What, you don’t share now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get your own,” Quentin tells him. “Tony brought this for </span>
  <em>
    <span>me,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> and… okay, maybe Tony had implied that, but he hadn’t meant—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter looks at him and Tony shrugs. It’s probably not worth arguing about, if Quentin’s in that kind of mood. “Fine,” Peter says, crawling onto the bed. “Will you get me something too, Tony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Quentin snaps before Tony even has a chance to tell Peter yes. “Ugh, Peter. Go away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go away,” Quentin says. “I am so tired of smelling you. All alpha everywhere; just go somewhere else for a while, okay? I feel like I can’t breathe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” Peter says. “Rude,” and he looks a little hurt, not that Tony blames him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony catches Peter’s eyes, rolls his. “Come on, kid,” he says. “Let give him some space to sulk on his own then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin huffs and grabs Tony’s wrist. “Not you,” he says. “I didn’t say you could go. You barely smell like anything at all. What?” he adds. “I don’t want to be alone, that’s ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re ridiculous,” Peter mutters. “Whatever. I’m going to go sleep for a week, and then I’m never going to let you live it down that you wanted Tony for this instead of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter,” Tony says, “no, hey, don’t leave me alone with him!” but it’s too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin finishes eating, completely ignoring how Tony’s sniping at him, and curls up on the bed. Tugs at Tony until he lies down next to him, and then Quentin attaches himself like an octopus, clinging and all over Tony. He’s quiet, hopefully falling asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony’s nearly there himself when Quentin sits up. “Where’s Peter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Tony says. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin frowns at him. “What do you think I mean?” he says. “Why isn’t he here? Where did he go?” He hesitates, a slip Tony will do him the favor of ignoring. “He should be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cannot believe this. “He’s not here,” Tony says, staring up at Quentin, “because you sent him away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I do that?” Quentin says. “That’s stupid. It doesn’t make any sense. Get him back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony pushes himself up. Look, he can forgive a certain amount of… weirdness, with Quentin being an omega and all, but this is— “Are you kidding me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get him back,” Quentin insists. “I don’t like this. He should be here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friday,” Tony says, “will you tell Peter to get back here asap because his omega is being a pain in my ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not,” Quentin says, and he doesn’t sound like himself. Doesn’t look like himself, the way he’s curled in; not much, but far more than usual. “He should be here, that’s all. Why wouldn’t he be here? He’s not mad, right? He’s not— nothing happened, did it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll never, ever tell Quentin—because it seems like a perfect way for Tony to get his head bit off—but he’s a little pitiful like this, all worried and fussy. Maybe Tony doesn’t have the same urges Peter might, but he’s not a complete asshole. Not in the face of those eyes.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you are going to murder me when you are back in your right mind and remember this,” Tony says. He sets his hand against the back of Quentin’s neck and Quentin twitches. “No, nothing bad happened, sweetheart. He’s not mad at you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he’s not here—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh,” Peter says, almost stumbling as come through the door. “This had better be good. I was nearly asleep. What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were gone,” Quentin says, almost sulky. Tony half expects him to cross his arms, for fuck’s sake. “You’re supposed to be here and you weren’t. Where were you? Why did you go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter’s mouth is hanging open; he looks at Tony and Tony can only shake his head. “Don’t bother,” he tells Peter. “Just come here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously?” Peter mutters, but he curls up on the bed next to Quentin, who promptly shoves him over more, lying down and wiggling around until he’s got them right where he wants them. “You’re so bossy,” Peter says as Quentin pushes his head to the side, burying his face against Peter’s scent point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shhhh,” Quentin says, and reaches behind him until he finds Tony’s arm; yanks him forward, wrapping Tony’s arm around his waist. The way he’s got his head stretched out, Tony just knows Quentin’s going to end up snoring. He pulls at him a little, trying to get him rearranged just enough that won’t happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin cracks open one eye and growls at him, softer and higher pitched then what Peter had gotten. Tony sighs, and gives up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, so bossy,” Tony whispers, and Quentin nods. Smug bastard; of course he’d be pleased with that. Just like an omega to get them both wrapped around his finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, well. Around him, quite literally. </span>
</p>
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